"
"You mean that the first thing to do is to find out what she's up to?"
"Precisely. Of course, if it should prove to be a genuine case of
maternal feeling, I won't conceal from you that the outlook's bad. At
most, you could probably arrange to see your boy at stated intervals."
To see his boy at stated intervals! Ralph wondered how a sane man could
sit there, looking responsible and efficient, and talk such rubbish...As
he got up to go the lawyer detained him to add: "Of course there's no
immediate cause for alarm. It will take time to enforce the provision
of the Dakota decree in New York, and till it's done your son can't
be taken from you. But there's sure to be a lot of nasty talk in the
papers; and you're bound to lose in the end."
Ralph thanked him and left.
He sped northward to the Malibran, where he learned that Mr. and Mrs.
Spragg were at dinner. He sent his name down to the subterranean
restaurant, and Mr. Spragg presently appeared between the limp portieres
of the "Adam" writing-room. He had grown older and heavier, as if
illness instead of health had put more flesh on his bones, and there
were greyish tints in the hollows of his face.
"What's this about Paul?" Ralph exclaimed. "My mother's had a message we
can't make out."
Mr. Spragg sat down, with the effect of immersing his spinal column in
the depths of the arm-chair he selected. He crossed his legs, and swung
one foot to and fro in its high wrinkled boot with elastic sides.
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